


Blinded

by RougueShadowWolf



Series: 15 Minutes [123]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Stiles, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Murder-Suicide, Past Child Abuse, Past Violence, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-28 03:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6314137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RougueShadowWolf/pseuds/RougueShadowWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All John ever wanted to do was to be a good man, which sadly wasn’t all that easy when you had no clue on how to be a good man and a father at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings to all! To those who aren’t familiar with this little series of mismatched stories stuck like leaves on the withering tree that his 15minutes know this! All of the stories found here are written with the agonizing time limit that has also given this series it’s miserable and uninspiring name. Due to the time limit most stories are riddled with mistakes and clumsy wordings, but if you are able to ignore those problems do continue reading, well as long as you also understand that once the time is up it is up and the story is at an end there (although at times I might continue it do to my stupid brain not shutting the hell up). 
> 
> But to this story, yes, here we go. So this one was demanded or requested by my lovely friend who I have decided shall be for now be called Uncivilized-Understudy (she likes this one for some reason), who is at the moment is nursing the last of a cold she’s been dealing with like the rest of us, she wanted a fic where Sheriff Stilinski isn’t yet a sheriff but a deputy. Uncivilized-Understudy also wanted him to be a single parent after Claudia went bonkers and attempted to kill Stiles before taking her own life. 
> 
> Now I may have been a bit lazy with this one since I stole it from an idea of mine that has been brewing in my head for nearly 2 years now but I’ve never had the spine to do anything about it, which I probably shouldn’t have confessed to you all.

  
He’d been driving through yet another long and lonely night. He’d seen the sun rise and fall and rise again while attempting to keep the old Jeep on the road, he’d seen days turn into nights as he drove across the country with the determination of a man on the run or running towards something.

The reason behind John Stilinski’s sudden need to spend his days and nights behind the wheel of the Jeep his late wife was the need to return to Beacon Hills much sooner than what had been originally planned, this drive to get back to the town they called home came from the simple uninformative phone call from Talia Hale; if only Talia hadn’t had the power to evict him and his son from the lovely little apartment with the cheap rent that had felt like a godsend six months ago, then perhaps John could’ve ignored the demand of the strange call, but Talia Hale had the power to send him and his son out on the street and so he’d drag his son out of bed and into the Jeep without a warning days ago. The undeniable fear of losing the one place that his son had seemed to finally accept as a home had John rushing to get back to Beacon Hills like a bat out of hell, John needed to make sure the woman who was pretty much called The Lady of Beacon Hills didn’t cast him and Stiles out just yet.

Sure, John hadn’t been able to pay the rent for the past two months, and he wasn’t entirely convince he would be able to pay them or the next one, but he would be able once the house was sold.

Seeing the familiar and slightly battered Welcome to Beacon Hills sign John glances up at the rearview mirror, checking on his son, he’s not all that surprised to find Stiles still awake since the little boy who looked so much like Claudia had always had irregular sleeping patterns; of course John would’ve preferred it if his little boy had been sleeping instead of sitting there strapped in the hand-me-down car seat wide awake.

Stiles sat silently watching the dark and still wild scenery flicker past the window, tiny scarred arms and hands held the Care Bear that had once belonged to Claudia Stilinski close.

`Almost home son.´ John tells the only child of his and Claudia’s four babies that had reached full-term and who’d no less been born alive all pink and wrinkly, unlike his siblings Stiles had been spared the chaotic and deadly genetic make-up that had made it impossible for the other babies to survive; then again sometimes John wondered if Stiles would’ve been better off with his siblings, after all if Stiles hadn’t survived then he’d never had to have experienced the terror of being attacked by a person who was meant to love and protect him.

Stiles didn’t respond to John’s little statement, instead of responding to him Stiles hugged his pink bear with the rainbow on its belly tighter while chewing on the beads that hung around his neck short little neck; John had got a lot of shit for that necklace but if it kept Stiles from chewing his lower-lip into a bloodied mess then what harm was there in his son wearing a colorful beaded necklace around his neck?

`How about we stop somewhere for breakfast. ´ John suggests, offers, in an attempt to mend some of the bridges he’d burned since dragging his son across the country for a funeral where members of his family, John had made promises about doing some sightseeing but the phone call from Talia Hale had changed everything; they hadn’t even gone to see Lady Liberty, they hadn’t even paused to see the lights of Las Vegas both of which should’ve been manageable, but there hadn’t been any other stops than for gas and for snacks, even bathroom breaks had been cut down to a rare few after John pretty much forced his son to ware his nighttime diapers throughout the day.

Although John had offered to stop for some pancakes and bacon he couldn’t help but wish his son would rather decline the offer, which Stiles thankfully did. Stiles hugged the worn-down and somewhat sun-bleached Care Bear, before shaking his head instead of saying out loud that he didn’t want to stop for a big breakfast.  
  
`Alright, if you’re sure kiddo?´ John continues to say while the tightness in his chest eases a little and his grip of the steering wheel becomes less firm as the dread of a possible thirty or so minute stop was removed. For the rest of the drive to their two bedroom apartment John stays quiet as does his son and the only problem with the silence was that suddenly John’s thoughts started to wander, he started out worrying about becoming homeless but then he took a turn towards all of some of his first regrets in life which were mostly ruled by the guilt.

The most troubling of his thoughts, the one laced with the most cruelest and most unrelenting guilt was not realizing his wife was no longer herself, John’s thoughts took the turn they often did after he started to think about Claudia forcing him to recall the night when his life well apart. Just the memory of rushing back home after the worst phone call in his life had ended made his heart race to the point that it hurt, it was that night that often drove him to drinking more than just a beer during dinner.

John had just got back into his squad car after dealing with Beacon Hills very own Archie Bunker when he got a call from his little boy, which wasn’t all that odd as it was close to Stiles bedtime and Claudia would always have him call his daddy so that John could wish him goodnight. John couldn’t help but smile as he took the call, although John’s devotion to his job made it so that he was lucky if he had at least two hours a day with his son he did love his son more than anything or anyone in the whole wide world, John honestly didn’t even mind it if his son called to ask him if he really had to eat broccoli or to agree with him that Jackson Whittemore wasn’t very nice boy.

However the smile John had worn dropped the moment he hears the familiar and heartbreaking sound of his son crying, even though his son didn’t cry all that often the sound was burned into his memory for when his son cried it was a serious matter, and something about the way his son cried at the other end of the line sent a cold chill of dread through John’s whole body.

`Stiles?´ John fights to keep the fear he’s feeling from leaking into his voice, `Son, what’s wrong?´ John turns the key in the ignition just as his little boy coughs wetly and then whines miserably.

It takes a little bit of coaxing before his son who was still crying finally answers him, and something about the breathless sort of way Stiles speaks has John speeding towards the small house where his small family lived.

`It hults daddy.´ he hears his son say before Stiles goes back to sobbing making it almost impossible for John to understand what his son is saying, but eventually he’s able to make out the slurred words, `mama hult me. It hult bad.´

John turns on the sirens and the lights and drives like the devil is chasing him. He thinks momentarily that perhaps his wife had once again spanked their son even after John had told her that corporal punishment wasn’t acceptable, and John swore that if he found a single bruise or blemish on Stiles tiny body he would not hesitate to let his wife know exactly how pissed-off he was; he might even report her this time around since he’d threatened to do it more than a couple of times now, and still she continued to use means he did not support to “correct” Stiles behavior.

`Daddy’s coming baby.´ John tells his son before asking his son to give the phone to mama because John really needed to know what the hell had happened, and Stiles wouldn’t tell him he never did choosing instead to lie; Stiles had lied to him about the hand-shaped bruises on his little butt being the result from falling, if he hadn’t seen the bruises made by human hands then perhaps John would’ve believed every lie his son told him about his owies.

John hears his little boy make the strangest and heart wrenching sound before repeating the word no over and over again, and John had never heard his son sound so desperate and afraid.

`No, daddy, no.´ his son cries, `I stay hiding. I stay hiding.´ Hearing the fear in his sons voice breaks his heart as does the news that his son was hiding from Claudia which was a new thing, Stiles never hid unless they were playing hide and go seek.

`Okay baby, ´ John starts trying to placate his obviously distressed son, `you don’t have to do anything. ´ This fear his son was expressing in loud sobs and in his hiding convinces John that Claudia had hit their son again.

`It hults daddy.´ his son repeats sounding a bit like he’s about to doze-off after crying himself to exhaustion, `I’m sleepy daddy.´ his little boy confesses.

`That’s fine son, if you want to take a nap, it’s okay.´ John tells his baby boy while speeding and ignoring red-lights in his need to get back home, he needed to get home as soon as possible so he could deal with Claudia and her ancient-views on childrearing.

`I’m – I’m afaid daddy.´ his son tells him voice soft and low, thinking his son was a afraid of Claudia would find him he tells his son that he’s going to be there in a few minutes so Stiles would be fine. There’s a moment of silence and John has to wonder if his son his getting a cold because of the way he’s breathing, and then Stiles mumbles sleepily, `okay. I sleep now. Bye daddy.´ As the line of communication goes dead between them John feels suddenly an unexplainable sense of fear that made him positively screaming for the car to go faster, he can’t explain it but suddenly he feels like he can’t breathe or think until he’s got his son safely in his arms.

As soon as John reaches his house he’s out of the car like a bird taking flight, he no longer cares about the things he leaves behind, all he’s thinking about is finding his son who’s name the one his son had adopted for himself regardless of how hard Claudia had fought to make him accept the name she’d cursed him with, with a hand reaching for the door a familiar and frightful sound of a gunshot rings from within the house.

He’s desperate to get inside to find his family, but he still calls the gunshot in before ignoring any advice or guidelines steps inside the house he’d bought with his wife when they moved to Beacon Hills years ago, raising his own gun as he enters the now ghostly silent structure. He calls out something or other, he thinks at least that he does but everything goes silent around him when he sees the trail of blood on the floor and even on the wall, bloodied little handprints shake him to the core and suddenly he’s screaming unwisely for his son.

John shakes his head breathing in and out slowly as he attempts to push back the memories of how he found his wife and then son, the memory of finding Claudia seated in what had been John’s favorite chair the back of her head a bloodied mess after a self-inflicted gunshot wound, the Care Bears movie was playing on the TV and the Mad-Hatter was singing his song and that moment like everything about that late evening still haunted him; the movie was band from their lives to this day and perhaps for forever.

Taking the last turn before the tall brick buildings that whispered of a short-lived industrial revolution that had attempted to bloom in Beacon Hills appear, John recalls how he’d screamed at the sight of Claudia and then how he’d in a state of pure panic and dread started to search for his son; his trained mind telling him that the blood on Claudia’s hands couldn’t be her own had painted a horrible image inside his head even before he’d caught sight of the suicide note; the words I’m sorry Johnny but I had to do it, I had to kill him, he just doesn’t deserve to live and you know it, I don’t want to die had sent John screaming searching each room in a blind panic, John recalled how he’d found his deathly pale and barely alive son hiding underneath the kitchen sink.

John glances back up at the rearview mirror looking at his son who would forever carry the scars of the vicious attack, he’d honestly thought his son was dead when he pulled the limp body into his arms, but then Stiles had made the tiniest of sounds that had given him a great deal of hope; the memory of all the horrible stab wounds that riddled the small body, the defensive wounds on Stiles’ hands told John that his little boy had tried to defend himself against the attack, and the slashed throat still haunted his dreams. Reaching out feel his still living son, placing his hand against the small leg and squeezing the tiny limb gently, John thinks for a second that it really doesn’t matter if he loses the apartment as long as he still has his son he would be fine.

`You okay daddy?´ his son asks as the beads drop from his tiny mouth, the displeased look that had been plastered on Stiles young face had been replaced by an expression of genuine concern.

`I’m fine son.´ is all John says before removing his hand off of his son and back on the wheel, his clever little boy doesn’t question his answer but there’s no doubt in John’s mind that his son isn’t buying his answer.

Driving past buildings one and two each a smaller version of the slightly larger buildings of three and four, building five was the largest of the five brick-constructions and the very one where John and Stiles had lived for the past six months; John couldn’t help but hope that whatever Talia wanted to talk to him about wasn’t as bad as getting the boot out of the small apartment he was renting from her, because until the house was sold John couldn’t really afford any of the other apartments around town.

Parking the car that had once belonged to Claudia in its designed spot outside the largest of the five buildings John thought for the first time that the construction seemed to almost loom over everything, almost like Talia Hale and the rest of her family and friends who all had a remarkable amount of influence on the way Beacon Hills was developed. Building five held a couple of low-key apartments such as the one in which John had settled in with his son, it also had few fancier ones that had been featured in magazines. Sadly for Stiles there weren’t any other kids living in any of the apartments since most of them were occupied by young couples or individuals more focused on the material things in life than love and companionship, John was of course hoping that once the house was sold that he could buy a house or afford to rent a family friendly apartment so that Stiles’ social-life wasn’t as limited as it was at the moment.

Hours and hours of driving had not been kind on John Stilinski, everything was stiff and aching forcing out groan of sever discomfort when he slipped out of the Jeep and stood-up, there’s not a part of his body that wasn’t protesting against moving around, but move he must as he had to get both himself and Stiles cleaned-up and so he hurries to free his son from his car seat. Even before he’s picked his son up John knows they both need a good washing, and the Jeep needs a good cleaning too since there a paper and plastic wrappings all over the place, the smell was unpleasant and he made mental note that while Stiles was taking a nap he would do his best to clear the car before calling Talia Hale, the woman hadn’t given him any other instructions than to call her as soon as he was back in town.

Stiles’ little face blushes crimson when John lifts him out of his seat and as soon as John as his son in his arms, the reason for the sudden flushness becomes clear when John slinks his arm beneath the diaper clad behind; the diaper has been used not once and surely not just twice but enough times for it to feel heavy and soaked, and Stiles his only living child hadn’t alerted him to the increasing need for a stop and a change. John of course knows exactly why his son had decided he’d rather sit suffer with a soaked diaper than ask for a change, the reason was John’s momentary rant that had been fueled by exhaustion and fear of losing their home, John knows he had snapped at his son although he doesn’t recall what exactly had been said but whatever it was had kept Stiles quiet and now that he thinks about it timid even.

John can’t help but suddenly agree with his Aunt-Paula’s statement about him being a horrible parent, after all who in their right-mind would yell at a boy who wasn’t even old enough to be left at home alone for an hour? Sure, Paula hadn’t really been picking on the real issues that made John a bad parent even without this diaper failure and the whole forcing your son into a diaper thing, she’d rather critical about John allowing his son to wear clothes that weren’t all that boyish, and for the necklace that was there to help Stiles to stop chewing his lips bloody, he’d been harshly judged as an unfit parent for allowing his son to play with toys that were considered toys fit for a girl and not a boy; John wasn’t entirely sure what made a Care Bear a girls toy as it was a stuffed bear and not a Barbie doll, but he hadn’t questioned it out loud.

`You want him to turn out wrong?´ his aunt had asked him harshly after he’s demanded her to give Stiles back his bear, a bear Claudia had given him no less, `You want him to turn out confused? Want him to make the same disgusted mistakes you did? I knew, I knew you would corrupt him with your sickness. I just knew it. ´

Frankly John didn’t care if his son turned out to be bisexual or gay or pansexual or ace or whatever else orientation there was as long as he didn’t turn into a predator of sorts. John could honestly swear on Stiles life that he wouldn’t disown his son if he one day came to him and told him that he didn’t like girls but boys; heck, John wouldn’t even be upset if his son came to him one day and said, `I’m not a boy´ and if so well then John Stilinski would help his daughter in her transition from the biological mistake that needed to be corrected, and if his son simply wanted to be the most flamboyant drag queen in the whole Untied States well then John would help his son in that too.

While John may not have been allowed to be who he was due to the pressure of his family and the fear of being abandoned, there was no way in heaven or earth that he would doom his son into being someone he wasn’t, John would never force his only living child into some mold an uptight self-righteous bigots believed to be the only right way of being. John had already screwed Stiles over for more than a few years by bending to Claudia’s demands of not buying their son the clothes he wanted, sure they lived on a strict budget but if Stiles found a pink unicorn blouse in the thrift-store and he wanted it well John would buy it, and he had bought his son all sorts of clothes some would call girl-clothes but that in all honesty were Stiles’ clothes once he wore them.

Still, John was clearly failing at being a father in certain areas even if he was trying to be better at the whole single parent thing, but it wasn’t easy since Claudia had dealt with the meals and bathing, at times Johns temper did the better of him and at times he drank too much losing track of time but he was trying to be a better father.

Kissing the little cheek where a small scar still sat, one of many scars that could’ve been far more visible and frightful if there hadn’t been someone on the surgical team that cared about minimalizing the scaring, without Dr. Greenberg John knew that his son would’ve come out looking far worse than any Frankenstein’s monster; to John Stilinski Dr. Beatrice Greenberg was a saint and he’d sworn to her that if she ever needed anything he would gladly help.

Reaching their apartment door and unlocking it John couldn’t help but breathe out, `Home sweet home.´ which his son mimicked softly, before asking, `Bath now? ´

`Oh, yes, bath now.´ John agrees because the two of them reeked.

~*~*~*~

They had just climbed out of the bath, got themselves dried and Stiles diaper rash applied with some ointment to ease the discomfort, they were in the midst of getting dressed when the noise of someone banging on the apartment door broke the sleepy silence between them; there was a sense of urgency to the knocks that sent John racing to the door with his son once more perched on his hip thinking that perhaps something was wrong such as a fire somewhere inside the old building. Then again as soon as John opens the door foolishly forgetting to check who it was that had come to bang repeatedly at the door, he finds himself wishing for a brief second wishing there had been indeed a fire to fear instead of coming face to face with one Talia Hale.

There’s no hello or good morning just the impatient snap of, `Did I not tell you to call me as soon as you’ve arrived in town Mr. Stilinski?´ when John has the door open enough for Talia Hale to come face to face with him, even now so ridiculously early in the morning Talia Hale looked fresh and well-kept, dressed in one of her fine suite her dark hair falling gracefully down her shoulders anyone could’ve easily made the assumption she was heading into court in a few minutes to rip someone’s balls off, the lady who could send him and his son packing stood there looking unimpressed with John.

`I – I,´ John starts trying to figure out how to say he was waiting for it to be at least eight in the morning before interrupting Talia Hale’s morning, but the look she gives him just makes him feel like the wrong answer might just be the last once he gives.

`No matter.´ Talia sighs impatiently, before turning on her heels, `Come along Mr. Stilinski, we’ve waited long enough for you.´ and with that the woman who had an ability to send a man to prison with very little solid evidence began to make her way towards the lift.

Unwilling to risk losing the roof above his sons head John quickly obeys the woman who seemed to pretty much unaware of the fact that John and Stiles especially might need to rest up a bit before dealing with her.

`Why?´ his son whines miserably when John starts to help Stiles into one of his favorite coats, `I want to sleep daddy.´ it honestly breaks John’s heart to see his son so miserable.

`I know kiddo, but this is really important, so you need to be good for daddy okay?´

`Fine.´ his son huffs unhappily, and Stiles is on his best behavior he doesn’t complain or fuss when they settle in Talia Hale’s much fancier car, all his son does is stay close to him and fighting away the sleep that makes his eyelids heavy.   
  
John doesn’t ask the powerful woman where they are going, he knows from previous interactions with the woman that you did not question her, but his son does when the familiar buildings of that lined the streets grow fewer and far between until there are only trees.

`To my house little one.´ Talia Hale answers the impatience replaced by a gentleness John had never heard her use, and even her gaze was warm and friendly as she looked at his son who was curled up against his side, `your daddy and I have things to discuss and figure out, and I hope you like pancakes because my husband is making some for you.´

John can’t help but feel severely anxious about what was going to be discussed but his son who may still feel the powerful pull of sleep makes it very clear that he does in deed like pancakes by saying, `I love pancakes.´ and yet his son gazed up at him hopefully before asking, `Can I have pancakes daddy?´

`Of course you can.´ John says leaning down to kiss the pale skin the beanie covered head of his son, who cuddled in closer before asking Talia Hale, `Can daddy have pancakes too?´

With some hesitation the woman did answer, `Sure honey, but only once we’ve had our little talk.´

The majority of the Hale’s lived in the old Hale house that stood in the middle of the woods no less, in John’s opinion it was all very strange, and the house was impressive which was very Hale of the house and its grounds.

As soon as they reached the Hale house Talia Hale was out of the car, demanding John and his sleepy son to follow her which they did, John carrying his son who’d lost any interest in pancakes and just wanted to go to bed at this point.

Entering the fine house John was greeted by the delicious scent of pancakes and Talia Hale’s husband Andrew “call me Drew” Hale who was known around town for his friendly demeanor, and for a brief and somewhat horrifying moment they met Talia Hale’s oldest child Laura Hale the preteen had clearly just crawled out of bed her dark hair a mess and wearing a bright-pink nightgown with cute white kitties on it, the girl looked rather adorable in her pink bunny slippers until she started shrieking in horror which startled his son who’d dozed off with his head on John’s shoulder; while Laura rushed back upstairs screaming about bad parenting Stiles who’d become far more easily startled since the attack that had nearly killed him, getting startled these days resulted in Stiles crying and seeing comfort which was exactly what happened. Although Stiles was easily startled these days he was still quick to recover from it as long as John took the time to just hold him close, all John needed to do was to tell his frightened child it was all going to be alright and that he was there and Stiles would settle down; most of the time John did believe his own words about everything was going to be fine but sometimes especially when Stiles was screaming and crying because of a nightmare or when he had a panic attack doubt seeped into John’s mind.

It didn’t take all that long for Stiles to settle down once they were alone in the Hale’s fairly spacious living-room, but it was just long enough for Laura Hale to get back downstairs all dressed up and hair brushed offering a very sincere apology for giving Stiles such an unpleasant fright, Stiles doesn’t even think about it since he was a good little boy, all he does is turn towards Laura arms stretched out which makes her look a bit unsure of what to do so John helps her out by saying, `We hug when all is forgiven.´

`Oh.´ is all that the pretty girl popular girl says before grinning happily at Stiles and reaching out to hug Stiles.

`Dads making pancakes, ´ Laura tells Stiles as she helps Stiles get out of his coat and beanie, John does notice the way her sharp eyes of the girl move over the scars only a keen eye could see, John expects her to say something like Stiles’ not very well-behaved cousins had but all she does is offer her hand to Stiles before asking him a question she made sound very important, `What’s your favorite pancake? Mines chocolate chip or blueberry.´

Slowly they moved towards the kitchen, John following the two kids.

`Bluebelly an’ bananana,´ Stiles answers truthfully which causes Laura to smile but unlike some members of John’s family she didn’t mock Stiles for his inability use R’s or the way he said banana, it seemed Laura Hale far kinder than John and Stiles’ so-called family were; then again John had his suspicions Stiles was treated as something less because of what John had been or rather was, it didn’t matter that he’d married Claudia and had a child he was still considered wrong.

`Derek, my little brother likes banana pancakes too so I’m sure dad’s making some, you can have both if you want.´ Laura says before picking Stiles up like he was nothing more than a little feather, she sits him down in one of the many chairs surrounding a fairly large kitchen table, `Mom and Cora like bland-plain and dull pancakes.´

Laura seemed to make sure Stiles sat comfortably on one of the two chairs that weren’t similar to the rest of the chairs, they were clearly designed to help the younger members sit high enough to be able to eat comfortably, `Orange juice or apple juice? ´ the girl asks but John doesn’t hear his son ask for orange juice since Talia Hale is suddenly at his side asking him to follow her once more, John follows her rather reluctantly into what seems to be the basement of the house.

`Tell me John,´ she starts and it takes him a second to realize that Talia’s younger brother Peter Hale was walking right behind him, suddenly John was struck with a feeling of unease and his hand goes for the gun he’s not carrying, `Do you know someone by the name of Deucalion?´

John feels his broken heart skip a beat just at the mention of a name he’d once laughed over but grew to love just like the boy to whom it had belonged too. 


	2. What Are You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lords and Ladies have mercy on my wretched soul, for here I am destroying the image of John and Deucalion being all strong and manly, but as by the demand which is painted-up as a fine request by my dear Tyrant-Twin who wanted there to be a lot of begging and a lot of tears. And so this is what I have delivered to her and to you based on her request.

When the great and solid door that opened with the use of a great deal of strength was pulled open before him, the metal against metal screeching and thus increasing an already prominent ache inside his skull, John Stilinski had not expected to find the view of the world he lived in to come tumbling down as a world he only believed existed on pages of various books and shown on the great screen or on the TV-screen was revealed to him. His life he knew at that very moment was changed beyond repair even before he was made to face a past lover and friend, or rather before he learned a secret the one he’d loved far more than he’d ever loved his wife had been keeping from.

Behind the great door, chained like such a beast should when all it seemed to possess was a bloodthirst was a monster unlike any John had ever seen, the creature stood much like a man but it was not a man such as John, it had large hands with great claws that reached viciously and yet uncoordinatedly in his and the two Hale’s direction, there were light dusts of fur covering filthy skin the well sculptured muscles were straining as the beast fought against the binds that held it chained to the floor, walls and yes even the ceiling above, some chains were old and some new, some bolts looked ancient and others as if they had come fresh from the hardware store down town. From the vicious creature that seemed to have stepped right out of a nightmare snarled and growled, snapped its sharp fangs in the direction of the three of them drool and spit dropping down and around as it attempted to get nearer to their flesh. This thing had its eyes covered with stained bandages making it blind to their shapes and sizes, but then again did their sizes and shapes really matter when this thing before them was clearly designed to do one thing and that one thing was to kill?

John reaches uselessly for his gun that isn’t even there, and moves to try and slip further away from the monster, all of his instincts demand him to go to his son and get him as far away from this madness as possible, he needs to make sure that if the chains snap and break that his son is nowhere near this monsters claws but there is a firm hand on his shoulder suddenly keeping him in place.

`Alpha Deucalion.´ Talia Hale says from his left voice full of authority and respect, the creature growls even louder and that name of the young man John had to give-up under duress and misplaced loyalty, John had regretted giving in to his family and yet he did not regret it since it had granted him his son, and he could and would never regret having his baby boy even if it had brought him a lot of heartache.

`Alpha, I’ve brought him, ´ Talia continues to say while John stares at the enraged creature, `I’ve brought you your John.´

John just stares at the woman who continues to ask the creature, `Can’t you smell him? ´

The creature snarls at her, vicious fangs gleaming sharp and white in the slightly swaying light above their heads.

`For heaven’s sake.´ Peter Hale sighs while his sister continues to try and get this thing to smell John which is almost as confusing as hearing her repeating that name that John wasn’t allowed to even voice around his family or Claudia after she learned about him and Deucalion’s past.

There’s a harsh shove, a bruising one that will leave a mark between John’s shoulder blades, that sends him stumbling or rather flying into the direct path of the monster, and he hears Talia Hale shriek at her brother while all John can think about is that his son is soon to become an orphan, and the thought of his little boy getting left alone in this new horrible world; his son is going to lose another parent and there is nothing John can do about it, and there is nothing and no one that can save his son from John’s hateful family that would rip his baby a part until they could build him up into a homophobic judgmental bigot.

As the beasts arms wrap around him John prepares for the end and yet he begs quietly for the monster not to kill him.

`Please don’t. I have – I have a son, a little boy – I’m all he’s got.´ and saying it out loud, voicing the fact that his son was alone, that he was all his baby boy had or rather he was the only one who loved his son the way every little child deserved to be loved breaks his heart, and he’s crying earnestly as he comes in-contact with a firm solid chest against which he becomes trapped.

He feels sharp teeth scrape against his neck and shoulder.

`I’m all he’s got. I’m all he’s got.´ and now he’s crying because it’s true, John is all his son truly has, and how hadn’t he realized this until now, why hadn’t he made sure his son didn’t end-up with bad people if he were to die? How could he be so reckless and so goddamn stupid not to make arrangements to secure a happier life for his baby?

`John, my John.´ the thing rumbles softly before snuffling against his neck and then the messy hair that needed a washing, `My beautiful John – is it really you?´ and that voice is familiar even now when it is so much more mature and rougher than what it had been before.

`Duke?´ John whispers against the heaving chest that seems to shrink a little, then again the whole body seems to grow smaller and far more human and less like a beast from a monster movie, and as John dares to look up at the face that had been that of a monster he sees a the familiar although slightly older and distinguished face of the person he’d truly loved, the metal collar with the padlock sat loosely around his neck and the bandages had slipped down to reveal scarred eyelids.

`Duke?´ John breathes out in disbelief and wonder, shaky hands reaching out to confirm that the face he sees is real and not a figment of his imagination.

`I’m here John,´ the beautiful man says and it comforts him more than it really should considering that Deucalion had only a moment ago looked like a deadly monster that wanted nothing more than to rip John’s throat out.

`What – what are you? ´ the question slips out of John while he struggles to understand what he is seeing.

`A werewolf John, I’m a werewolf, I’ve always been one.´ Deucalion answers with that honesty that had made John love him from the start but it seemed this person he’d loved from a young age, the one that had made him question the very things his family had drilled into his skull, had been keeping a terrifying secret from him during all their years together. Still it is this honest answer that frightens him because it confirms what John had already seen, this man was a monster, a creature with sharp and deadly fangs and claws that could and had possibly killed before.

And although John could not deny that he still had a great deal of feelings towards his first-love since they had never died no matter how hard John had fought to extinguish them, but that flame that had burned for Duke had never truly died no matter how hard John had tried to love Claudia, and he had loved her in some small way and he felt ashamed of it now that she was gone that he had never truly loved her; he’d of coursed adored her beyond anything when she became pregnant and birthed their son simply because of the child, John loved her more for the child she gave him because Stiles their beautiful boy had become the one thing that had made giving Deucalion up worth the heartache and sadness he’d felt for years.

But it was also Stiles, his little boy who was somewhere upstairs and unaware of the danger that loomed beneath the floorboards of this strange house was the reason he could not blindly trust Deucalion the way he would’ve done if the man had been just that a man, a human who John could fight easily against with his bare hands if he ever so much as looked at his little boy. John may still harbor a great deal of feelings for Duke, feelings that neither time nor the birth of his baby boy had managed to end, but his son was his priority now. John had to protect his baby boy especially since he’d already failed him beyond reason.

He could not risk his son for anyone, not again, never again. John had trusted his wife, trusted her even after she’d proven more than once that he could not entirely trust her, and his blind trust had nearly killed his son and left him permanently scarred.

`Don’t – please don’t fear me John. ´ Deucalion, his Duke, pleads with him and opening his eyes but the familiar beautiful orbs that enthralled him, they had comforted him and made him believe he was loved but now they were damaged and unsealing and it broke his heart the same way Duke’s sorrowful pleas did, `I could never hurt you, never, please believe me.´

`What – what happened to your eyes? ´ it’s not the string of words he’d wanted to say, what John had meant to say was that he did trust his first-love not to harm him because he did, because Duke had never hurt him not even when John had left him for Claudia had Duke harmed a hair on his head; and sill there is a small part of him that does fear this person before him.

`Hunters.´ is the answer he is given there’s a bitter anger in his voice now that reminded John of all the times Duke had talked about John’s family, `I trusted the wrong people John, I made a mistake, all I wanted to do was secure the safety of my backstabbing pack, ´ Duke’s voice rose with the anger that started rise within him, and suddenly John was afraid of this person before him.

`Don’t – please don’t be afraid of me John, ´ Deucalion’s voice loses all the anger it h ad held but a moment ago, all that was left was sadness and fear, and from the unseeing eyes fell a few desperate tears that made something painful squeeze at John’s already wounded heart, `Please don’t, I’ve never hurt you, I would never hurt you.´

John wants to believe him, and he does, a part of him does believe that Duke would never hurt him intentionally, but the same could not be said about his child, his precious little boy.

`I – I do believe you, ´ and the relieved smile that tugs at Dukes lips is such a sad sigh to him, and that smile he breaks when he continues to say, `But – but I can’t.´ The devastation, the alarm he sees upon the face of the person he’d missed so much more during these years of separation than he would ever miss his late-wife is as distressing for him as are the nightmares and panic attacks his child suffers from, but Stiles is his priority and he needs Duke to understand this to understand why he can’t just blindly accept Dukes claims of never harming him.

`John….´ Deucalion starts eyes wide and hurt, arms wrapping around him tighter as if he was refusing to let him leave again, and there is a part of John that wishes that he wouldn’t let go because life hadn’t been better without Duke at his side it had been hard and cruel, cold and vicious and it had nearly killed his son.

`I can’t. I have a son, I can’t risk it.´ and he really can’t risk it, he can’t just place his son in front of Duke and hope for the best, for how much more blood could his son bleed before enough was enough and his body decided to give in, how much more skin was there left to be ripped and ruined before it would no longer mend and stay together? How many near death experiences could his young son and his little heart take before that drum of life finally refused to beat again?

`I’m sorry, I am so sorry but I can’t, ´ John starts and he struggles not to cry, not to cave in to the hollowed out piece of his body that had grown with time.

`I – I would never harm your son John, ´ Deucalion says with such desperation that John is tempted to believe him, and the desperation grows as John shakes his head and attempts to escape the strong hold of the werewolf, `I swear it John, I swear it on my own life. Please, I need you John. I need you now more than I have ever needed anyone in my entire life. Please, don’t leave me.´ Duke continues to beg for him not leave again, to not abandon him now when he was so afraid and alone; and hearing such misery fall from Deucalion’s lips would’ve made him give-in if only he didn’t have his son, his fragile little boy was now John’s whole world and he could not just trust Deucalion when he swore he would not harm a hair on Stiles’ little head because John had only a moment ago seen the crazed beast the werewolf could be.

`I need you, I love, please don’t,´ Deucalion weeps against his shoulder much as he had done all those years ago when John made the choice between him and his family, and like way back then the choice is once more Deucalion or his family and with family being his son, but unlike way back then John knows that his decision and choice is the right one since Stiles had never asked to be born and John as the parent had to make sure to do right by his son always.

`I love you too, I really do,´ and John does love Deucalion, he has never stopped loving him, and no matter the claws or the fangs John would love him always, but his son was now his life, `But I can’t risk my son. ´ He can feel Dukes refusal against his shoulder and neck long before the words fall from his desperate lips.

`Well this was a tragic waste of time,´ John hears Peter Hale snicker from where he is standing, and John feels a sudden itch to punch the smug bastard in the face because this was not the time to be a heartless son of a bitch since there was more than one heart being broken.

`Oh do be quiet Peter, ´ John hears Talia Hale snarl at her brother as if she too was a creature of supernatural birth, but John can’t ponder on these sort of questions too much now as he needs to get away from Duke who wraps his arms more securely around his body, refusal to allow him to leave and return to his son.

`Don’t bite my head-off, I told you this was a stupid idea.´ Peter counters voice sharp and angry, `I told you he’d be an idiot if he just let a half-feral werewolf near his son, who I might add doesn’t have this nifty little ability to heal faster than a human does. Might I add if I or your mate Talia had been human, then you dear sister would be mourning not one but two deaths now because of Alpha Deucalion over there.´

`I wouldn’t be mourning your death.´ Talia Hale grumbles before finally directing her attention from her younger brother to John, who was now starting to think that perhaps the Hales had their very own secret to tell.

`John, perhaps there was a way for us to at least test the waters when it comes to Alpha Deucalion and your son,´ John is about to throw a hefty protests against using his son for anything, and he’s most certainly not going to have his little boy traumatized even further by bringing him down into what essentially was a dungeon, a dark dungeon where a very naked man was chained-up but the woman seems to know what he’s about to say before he does as she continues to say, say from somewhere behind him, she sounds less like the all-powerful and all-knowing woman she usually seemed to be and it makes him oddly nervous to hear her so cautious, `We can clean Deucalion up and bring him upstairs with us, as I am sure you have already guessed it me and my family aren’t exactly normal – I assure you on the lives of my own children that no harm will come to your son John, we will act immediately if there is any sign of Alpha Deucalion losing control.´

`I swear I will be between him and your son if he so much as gives a low growl or looks at him funny.´ Peter Hale says very seriously, so much so that no one comments on the little snide remark he’d thrown in there.

 


	3. My Fear is Heavy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my madness. A small chapter for you all. Hopefully you'll enjoy my attempt to show just how deeply John is bound to his son, and how fearful he is of losing his son. I was also trying to show that Deucalion isn’t really a horrible person, just slightly messed-up (aren't we all a little).

There’s a fear in him, a fear that is by nature great and undeniable, it sits within his chest and it consumes all other fears at least for the moment. It’s a dread which John is incapable of pretending does not sit within his fragile heart. His concerns for the safety, the concerns John has for the well-being of his son are reasonable, and they can’t be claimed to be invalid not under the strange circumstances John found himself in, circumstances that make no sense to him no matter how hard he attempts to wrap his brain around the fact that there are now other monsters in the world that simple humans.

 Stiles was just a little boy, a little boy still healing from the trauma he’d suffered. Stiles was a little boy that had already suffered enough for an entire life time. His son was just a little boy, a little boy that had gone through far too much already for someone so young.  

 Deucalion might be blind, but that didn’t change the fact that Duke was a grown man, and a werewolf at that.

  _A werewolf,_ the thought that Duke was a werewolf baffled him, even after what he’d seen down in the basement John still wanted to somehow brush it away as a trick of the light, explain it away as nothing more than a trick of his own exhausted mind. But Deucalion was a werewolf, the Hale’s were werewolves, and there was nothing he could do to change that. 

 John’s only child, his little boy was just human, a human now surrounded by werewolves. His son who had always been so small and so fragile, was about to face a werewolf that had only a moment ago raged and roared beneath his tiny feet.  

Stiles wouldn’t have a chance to escape if things turned bad, and John doubted his own ability to be fast enough to shield his son from any attack that Deucalion might launch against Stiles, after all Duke had already in their youth been ridiculously fast; of course, now there was an answer to that almost unnatural speed with which Duke had moved when they were still young and fresh-faced, the speed and strength which Duke had possessed back in their younger years had always been impressive to John and yet he'd always felt Duke was holding back, which apparently he had.

 It was clear that Stiles stood no chance of surviving Deucalion if the older male decided to turn on him, not with the amount of strength the werewolf held in his fingertips, not with the claws and fangs John had seen. His little boy stood no chance of surviving if Deucalion decided to attack him, not when Stiles had only just survived Claudia’s attack, and only long enough for his tiny broken body to be rushed to hospital, where he was attached to a  machine designed to help him breath, a hospital where his body was patched-up for hours and days.  The memory of how pale his son had been when John found him, and how deathly pale he’d become as he was rushed to hospital, the way his son had become unusually cold to the touch still appeared as a phantom sensation in his hands, the memory of how hard Stiles’ little heart fought to beat even when there was hardly any blood left for it to pump it, all of it still haunted John. 

 His son had died, not just once. His heart had stopped, not just once. His son had died more than once as John clung to his tiny hand, but thankfully the the paramedics, the doctors and nurses hadn’t given-up on his son, the will and determination of others was the reason why John still had his little boy.

John had lost his son, be it briefly, to Deaths cruel will, and now he was taking someone no doubt capable of finishing the job Claudia had started to his son. 

There was no hope of his son trying to run if things turned deadly, since the attack Stiles became paralyzed; and yet, if Stiles had the instinct to run, to hide, John had no faith that his little boy could outrun an enrage werewolf. 

  _A werewolf._ _My first-love was. No, is, he is a werewolf,_ John thinks briefly. 

From the claws and fangs that John had seen there was no doubt in his mind that Duke could easily kill John’s little boy.

What if letting Deucalion near his son would end in blood and tears, what if the blood was only that of his son, and what if those tears were all John’s?  What if the monster he’d seen down in the basement appeared once more and ripped his son apart? What if today would be the day John was left to sob over the lifeless body of his son?

Was he pushing his luck? Stiles had survived one horrendous act of violence from someone John had to some degree loved, someone he had trusted foolishly. 

 How many times could a man push his luck in life, even if he didn't know he was pushing it?

How much luck could a man have in life?

John had already been lucky with Claudia, he knows she could’ve been less understanding and forgiving when it came to his inability to perform. John had been so lucky, so blessed, that he'd managed to father a child, and that for a few good years Claudia had been the loving mother he’d wished for their son. 

He'd been so blessed to have Stiles, that long before Claudia turned on their son John had known that he'd been gifted something most precious. His son was so good, so sweet, so gentle and so bright that even the excessive energy of his son had never felt like something bad or horrible to John, his son was a gift, a blessing that John had often doubted he deserved.

Stiles was such a good and sweet little boy, the best little boy a father could ask for, and because John wasn't paying enough attention had nearly lost him for forever, but luck had intervened or perhaps some higher power had.

John knew he had been so damn lucky, possibly to the point that he had no more luck left, when Stiles called him and that he’d been able to race home immediately; John had been goddamn lucky, beyond lucky, when he found his son still alive and that the help was just around the corner when he made the frantic and panicked call, sobbing out that his son was dying.

 John knows, _he knows_ , that he’d come far too close to losing his son, everyone even the doctors had been stunned by how long and hard Stiles fought to survive. The amount of blood Stiles had lost while hiding should’ve alone been enough to kill his son, the delayed hemolytic reaction that followed after the blood transfusions should’ve finished his son off but didn’t. Each time Stiles’ heart had stopped it should’ve stayed still, but it didn’t,  and the damage left behind was minimal. Each infection that struck, each fever that made his tiny body convulse, each chest infection that made it impossible for Stiles to breathe, all of it should’ve killed his son, but none had. 

 And now, now after _everything_ , John was going let this man with horrifying abilities near his son. 

This, this was the most reckless and insane thing anyone could do.

 Stiles had survived so much, fought so damn hard from surviving, he'd gone through so much pain while healing, and how exactly was John now repaying his son for not leaving him? He was possibly risking Stiles’ little life.

This fear, these doubts blossoming within him, were sparked into life the moment the idea of introducing Stiles to Duke had been made. It didn’t matter how many times Duke promised he’d never hurt Stiles, John’s fears grew with each step that drew them nearer to Stiles.

 The weight of Duke’s hand on his arm felt unnaturally heavy, the heat that radiated from that simple touch that came from Duke’s need of support and guidance felt almost too much for John to handle. Everything felt like too much for John at that moment, he wished not for the first-time that there was a pause button to push so he could take his time to think or to just settle his nerves at peace. 

Turning his attention towards the werewolf at his sized, John felt a sense of guilt settle in his heart.

Although Duke had never done anything for John not to trust his word, John just found it hard to not fear for the safety of his son.

At first glance it seemed to John that Duke was perfectly calm and settled at his side, almost happy even as they moved together almost seamlessly. Moving together, predicting the next move as if they were the same being, it felt familiar and for a split-second John almost questioned how many years it had been since the last time they were this close.

_Too long_ , a small part of him thought. 

It takes John a moment to realize that Duke was speaking, talking to him, and he feels a bit horrible for not listening to the werewolf who seemed so human.

Duke’s voice pleasantly gentle, there’s a richness there that sends a tingle up John's spine. Duke's voice is familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time, it was strangely soothing, and if the life and safety he was worrying about wasn’t his own son, then perhaps John would’ve fallen hard for Duke’s beautiful voice and the worries in the world might've drifted away.

John can tell by the way Duke changes subjects that he _is_ nervous, and that realization increases John’s uneasiness, after all what was Duke nervous about? Was it meeting John’s son, and perhaps making a bad impression on the little boy that had already face one monster? Or, was it a nervousness based on the possibility that he might lose control and do something that would destroy John?

Suddenly Duke's voice becomes muffled, unclear, distorted. The only sound John hears is his own blood rushing around and the frantic beating of his own heart. 

John is once more back at the house, the one he'd once called a home, the house he and Claudia had once called their home. He was once more back there, heart racing with dread as he followed the trail of tiny bloodied handprints, that slowly drop from the wall to the floor, telling him that his son had crawled the last leg to one of his many hiding places which was John’s closet; but the closet hadn't been Stiles’ first choice, no, Stiles had hid underneath his big-boy bed but Claudia had found him there, she'd found Stiles underneath his bed hugging tightly to his stuffed toy dog that had become unrecognizable after Claudia’s last assault on Stiles.

The stuffed, floppy, plushie dog had to a degree done what John had once promised Stiles it would do, it had protected him from the monster that Claudia had become without John's notice, the toy had kept his son safe if only by taking most of the cuts and stabs Claudia had sought to bring down on their son.

 John is suddenly back there, following the trail of blood, calling out for his son. He steps inside the bedroom he’d shared with his late-wife, the sight of his son, laying there on the floor of the closet, his bloodied face only just hidden in the once white and soft knitted blouse John only ever wore when he and Stiles went on their autumn adventures, the back of the closet stained with blood and one too many bullet-holes.

 The image of his son, his little boy clinging to that once loved blouse, wet bloodied breaths still leaving his tiny body, the gruesome mess forever burned into John’s memory. The smell of Stiles’ blood, the smell of blood, tears, snot, and urine is suddenly so fresh and right there that John feels sick. 

 Claudia had come so damn close to killing their son, so goddamn close, major arteries had only just been missed, a broken blade had been hardly an inch away from Stiles’ tiny heart, there were so many horrible wounds that it still seemed impossible to John that his son had survived all of it; many nights John had to check on his son, gently laying his hand over the little stubborn heart of his son just so he could feel it beating, there were many times a day he had to reach out to touch Stiles just to make sure he wasn't a figment of a broken mind. 

 His son had been so still, so unresponsive as John pulled him out of the closet. John would’ve thought him dead if it hadn’t been for those bloodied gurgled breaths he'd been able to hear.

 `Breathe John. ´ he hears suddenly, a pair of strong hands are touching him, holding him, offering comfort.

 `Please, John, please breathe for me. ´ that voice says, that voice that passes through the loud rush of John’s own blood and the frantic beating of his panicked heart, a voice so loud and familiar as it pleads for him to breathe.

 `Please, John, you need to breathe, ´ the voice tells him, urges him, while a hand that had captured John’s own hand holds his shaky hand against a firm and strong chest that is distinctively male, another hand caresses the side of John’s face with an almost familiar tenderness that makes him whine with want.

 ` You need to breathe, John. You need to breathe for your son, ´ the voice that has been speaking to him says, ` you need to breathe for…. ´

 `Stiles. ´ a feminine voice that even when laced with concern holds an air of authority says, `the child likes to be called Stiles. ´

`Stiles. ´ said the male who continues to keep John from slipping into the terrible abyss full of horrible memories, and John thinks he hears a smile there, but only for a little while before that voice goes back to telling him to breathe, to breathe for Stiles, and Stiles is the key to everything in John’s life.

Stiles is his life.

Stiles is his everything. 

 It’s for Stiles, because of Stiles, that John gets out of bed in the morning. It was because of his that he stayed so loyal to Claudia even when he felt temptations that would've ruined their happy home, it was because of Stiles more than Claudia that John never acted on his desire to find Duke and reconnect if only as friends; John couldn't and wouldn't trust himself not to act on the want he felt towards Duke, didn’t trust Claudia not use his sexuality against him if he gave her any reason to end their marriage, he didn’t trust her or members of his own family not to do everything in their power to keep John out of Stiles’ life if he cheated on his wife or divorced her. 

 It’s because of Stiles’ that John has lost so much weight, he’s skipped meals and bought himself the cheapest things possible for himself just so that Stiles could have everything he needed. He's gone hungry to ensure his son did not. It’s because of Stiles that John doesn’t drink the way he’s tempted to do, not that he could afford to be drunk around his son, he had to have a clear head to notice if something wasn't tight with Stiles; he can’t smell of liquor because it triggers a panic attack in his son, he can’t be loud and drunk because that would frighten his son, John has to be awake, aware, and always in-tune with Stiles to keep him feeling safe and secure.

 John learned the worst way possible what could happen if he wasn't alert and aware of things and people that surrounded him and his son. John knows that if he’d been a bit less caught up with work, if he hadn't been so distracted by his own thoughts on that dreadful day when he came too close to losing his son, then he would've surely noticed that something wasn’t right with Claudia as he left for work. 

 `That’s it, my love, that’s it. Breathe. Breathe for that brave little boy of yours. ´ Duke says, and it is Duke, of course it is. It’s always been Duke that has talked him down or free from a panic attack, it’s always been Duke’s touches that have brought him the most comfort, or had before the birth of Stiles. 

As his vision clears, as his lunges begin to work once more and his heart calms, John gazes up at Deucalion who was so real and there.

 It hurts, it hurts like the sting of a scorpion to see the damage done to those once beautiful eyes of Duke’s, and John can’t help but wonder if it’s his fault somehow that this has happened to Duke.

_Am I cursed?_ John could not help but wonder, and he couldn't help but wonder whether or not it was it his fault that Claudia lost it, maybe the more destructive sides of Frontotemporal Dementia would never have occurred if John hadn’t been the one Claudia had loved.

Then again, if he hadn’t been with Claudia there would be no Stiles, and John is too selfish to not want his son, to even if given the chance he wouldn’t go back in time to stop his creation.

Still, maybe loving Duke, and Duke loving John, was the reason why Duke was now injured and blind. Perhaps there was something wrong with John.

 The hand that had been holding his hand, sneaks to the back of John’s neck, resting the warm and solid while the hand against his cheek stills.

`I’d rather be blind, ´ Duke declares without hesitation, his voice firm, unwavering, only growing soft briefly as he goes on to say, ` although I shall miss seeing you smile. ´

 ` I’d rather be blind, ´ Duke goes on, voice so sure and unwavering that John can’t help but believe every word said, ` than never have loved you at all. My eyes, they are _not_ your fault. What happened to your son, that is _not_ your fault. We have no power over others, John, all we can do is be the best _we_ can be. ´

If John wasn’t so mortified about voicing his thoughts out-loud like some silly teenager, then he’d probably would’ve found the strength to argue with Duke, to point out all of his failures as a father and husband. If John hadn't failed Claudia and his son, then Claudia wouldn't be remembered as the crazy lady who attempted to kill her son.

 `If – if you – if you don’t trust me, ´ Duke starts and John is quick to say he does, although it is but a half-truth.

 John does trust Duke, he does, it’s just this new and frightening side of him John is very wary about.

 `I do. I do trust you. It’s just…´

 `The wolf? You don’t trust it? ´ Duke asks, still crouching before him, and John momentarily wonders when on earth he’d ended up seated on the nice clean floor with his back against a paneled wall that looked so very old, it takes him a moment to notice all the names carved into the wood.

 `I don’t know it. ´ John says, ashamed really for being so human, how many times had he cursed humans and the way they quickly judged that which they did not understand or know, how many times had he in the past dealt with that ugly side of humans, too many times that’s what.

**`** Of course you don’t. ´ Duke says, softly, there’s so much understanding there that it makes John think if Duke really had changed all that much, `and that’s not your fault, John. ´

 `But…´ John starts, ready to argue that he shouldn’t be so quick to judge, even if his first run in with Deucalion and his wolf was a frightful one, but Duke cuts him off.

 `No. I understand that fear John, I do. Think John, why do you think I never told you about my Lycanthropy? ´

 John doesn’t need a second to think about the answer, because he does know.

 `You were afraid. ´

 Duke nods then, a sorrowful look coming to rest upon his handsome face.

 `I was afraid of your reaction. I was afraid of your possible rejection. And the long-ranging effects of your perhaps negative reaction. ´ there’s almost something apologetic about the way Duke speaks, like he’s ashamed for not trusting John and that of course makes John feel horrible, how could he doubt Duke?

`I understand. I do. ´ and John does, and he hopes Duke can hear it in his voice, `It wouldn’t have just been your life in danger, right? It wouldn’t have just been your life at risk, if I ran of screaming about monsters. ´ Duke smiles lovingly at him then.

 `If you wish to wait, I’ll understand, this is your son and his safety we’re talking about. I’m not going to force you into anything you aren’t comfortable with. ´

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea where Deucalion needs to stay with John because being close to his mate (not that John knows this) would help settle Duke and help him heal, and Talia promises John he and Stiles can stay rent free the fine loft with a balcony and a roof garden if he agrees to take Duke to stay for a while at least, and John agrees (not eagerly) and so the three move into the fine loft where Stiles has a nice bedroom with a batmobil bed and up in the garden there’s even a Groot-swing for him, at first Stiles isn’t all that sure what to make of this blind man and Duke feels the same about Stiles; but slowly Stiles grows on Duke and Stiles starts to like him too… and I’ll shut the hell up now.


End file.
